


Ruthless

by trilliath



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 02:49:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1026385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trilliath/pseuds/trilliath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter returns to Lydia's dreams. You didn't really expect him to resist, did you?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ruthless

The first time Peter goes back to Lydia's dreams she doesn't take it well.

There's fear, and anger, and some accusations. He talks of the imperfections of morality, the inflection points. He talks of limitations. Of power and taking things because you need them, because you want them. 

The next morning however she comes to the house, smiling with that gorgeous, perfect, smile which stirs an answering sensation in his soul. In those eyes he sees the very essence of her, wrapped in a column of grace and layers and complexity. It's a stunning sight to behold, truly. 

And then she stabs him in the heart.

It was a pity, honestly. He'd really liked that shirt. But even if he'd been able to stitch up the neat slice made by her sharpened blade, the heart's blood was never going to come out. 

They both know it wasn't meant to kill him. That would be foolish after all, considering that he'd not only survived death itself because of her, but for a werewolf, a little blade to the heart wouldn't do more than hurt. Though it hurt a great deal. She wouldn't let him off without suffering, after all. 

The others helped him, as it turned out. They underestimated her again, seeing it as an actual attack on his life. Their misguided attempts to express their concern for Lydia, helping to create a buffer between them, ubiquitous offers of sympathy.

They didn't understand that Lydia Martin would not find comfort in such acts. Oh, she appreciated them. She did. She cared that her friends cared about her. But they didn't understand. 

She'd found more comfort in _smiling_ while sinking that blade into his chest than she ever could by their coddling. In telling him, in the most direct way possible, that _she knew_. A knife to the heart wasn't an attack, it wasn't even a rejection. Not for them. Not this time.

It was an acknowledgment.

She doesn't tell them, but he goes to her again that very night. This time her anger is worse. He knows it's worse because she curls it down and smooths it away underneath a graceful eyebrow arch, a prim set of the shoulders, a tilt of the head. She's furious. 

But she listens. Well, not that she really has a say in that part. But he knows the difference. He tells her not to pout. He tells her it had been magnificent, and that he really was sorry for smiling through it all, but he couldn't help himself. It had been too elegant.

The next night she has questions.  
Oh, not for him. Not really. She's not that small.  
But she sees in him someone who can fathom the deepest, darkest questions of her soul. Who can understand _why_ there are layers to Lydia Martin. Why there are questions at all.

He is awed by her.

Whereas his questions and tensions stem from the visceral, the earthly, the dark spaces of the wilderness, her questions come from the stars. Where he speaks of the vicious bloody nature of life, she speaks of the infinities of existence, the boundlessness to the universe. The possibilities of solipsism. The pointlessness of limitations.

It's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Being inside her mind to see it. 

They float among the stars, hear the music of mathematics wending their way through reality. Feel the very vibrations of matter, the infinity of being.

Whereas when he speaks they see the forest, the earthly and the primal. The raw, the simple and the darkness. Though she, of course, finds them to be the same thing. To her, the infinity of space is the same as the infinitesimal power of a drop of blood. There are no bounds in any direction. Not really.

He understands that now, but he definitely hadn't when he was her age.  
He wonders when she'll surpass him. Not for a little while yet, he suspects. She's so very young, so much younger than she knows.  
But when it comes…

Well. That will be an interesting day, won't it?


End file.
